


Companions (+Other Fallout 4 Characters) React to the Sole Survivor's Ghoulification

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [28]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Ghouls, Gore, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: They're going through changes.





	Companions (+Other Fallout 4 Characters) React to the Sole Survivor's Ghoulification

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

She first noticed it when her windows alluded to a darkness outside so advanced, that she was well-cloaked in it, so long as she dimmed the lights in her home. No one would bother her at such an hour, and for that, Sole was supremely grateful. 

She had been about ready to tuck into bed herself, when she’d padded quietly into the bathroom, the tile cold against her feet, and turned to the mirror, resisting the urge to squirm at the inflamed sting she felt under her shirt. She’d figured they would’ve been bug bites of some sort or another; ants, chiggers, or some other pre-war nuisance that had perhaps survived nuclear annihilation. Whatever natural order that existed, probably enjoyed a healthy dose of irony, Sole supposed, all things given, as such, wouldn’t it make sense that mosquitos survived the atom bomb?

Sturges and her had been sitting in the grass all evening, tossing it at each other like children, and weaving intricate flower crowns with those thick, calloused fingers of his. She’d felt like a queen, in her meager hubflower adornments; and his fingers truly were a wonder, litheness buried in their work-toughened flesh. 

She tunneled her hands beneath the neckline of her cotton shirt, hovering below the ridge of her collarbone, and right at where the swell of her right breast begun. The pads of her fingers were warm against her skin, as if it had trapped the glory of the afternoon sun to keep her tepid and cozy that night. 

Sole felt around blindly, palpating the skin gently.

Then her body tightened, her fatigue sapped away by intense fear, as rivulets of ice water trickled down her spine. She squeezed again, her fingers feeling numb and dead, like they weren’t even hers to begin with. 

Where she’d expected inflamed, itchy bumps, she instead felt a soft, dreadful wetness. 

She pressed a little more forcefully, and then a vivid, burning pain seared her. She felt more wetness slicken the flesh as another part of herself gave away. 

Panic welled fresh in Sole, and she didn’t even think as she ripped herself free of her shirt. She looked down at what she’d felt beneath her clothing, now bared to her openly, and felt her knees give out. 

Her hand reached out to catch the cold porcelain rim of her sink before she could crumple to the ground, the sweat slick palm of her hand sliding precariously around the edge before her grip tightened and she managed to hold herself tentatively steady.

A large patch of her skin had seemingly come loose, and now flapped downwards like the top part of an open satchel hanging open, exposing the fragile tissue beneath. Instead of fresh streams of blood running downwards, as typical of an open wound, a strange, brown-green that resembled sewer water trickled from it in a slimy discharge. The hand that had first felt the area, had a slimy discharge of similar coloring on it, and upon bringing it closer to her face to inspect it, the putrid stench had her retching as her gut heaved itself against her abdominal wall.

Sole moaned, bowing her head deeply so that her now clammy forehead pressed against the cool, somewhat soothing porcelain. Her flesh dangled before her hauntingly, before the loosened flesh near the edges of the wound gave a bit more from the weight of the already displaced skin. 

The simmering pain never let up.

Sole felt her frame quiver, alien in the wake of the already strange appearances on her body. She took in sharp, scratching breaths but her chest ached raggedly, like the air had to fight the panic lodged in her throat to make it to her lungs. Her jaw fell open, and a terrible, anguished noise echoed in her dark home. She started at the abrupt disturbance, before swallowing the dryness in her mouth, and coming to the realization that she’d let out a scream.

Still shaking, she’d somehow maneuvered herself from the bathroom to the living room – she couldn’t recall when or how exactly though, as it was, Sole couldn’t see past the gaping crater in her chest, as bits of flesh crumbled away from her. The initial piece had ripped under its weight and dropped to the floor when she was in the hallway, but more was quickly following in its wake, starting to peel like cheap wallpaper on an old, curdled wall, on a hot, summer day. 

She flung herself out the door, and hobbled out into the night, in nothing more than her hastily replaced shirt (inside out, in her hurry and thoughtlessness), some flimsy, cotton shorts, and her sock feet, as echoes of that initial, burning pain opened up at various points on her. Undoubtedly her skin was defecting her form as she came to these realizations, and she felt like a ragdoll, coming apart with every hurried step. And yet, to move any slower, would be too allow herself to become a spectacle – potentially a pile of viscera in the midst of her quiet again neighborhood, with the way things seemed to be going.

The brittle, scarred earth of the Commonwealth was treacherous under blind feet, and it wasn’t until Sole found herself sloshing unwittingly into the edges of the river running tangentially to Sanctuary, that she realized she had no idea where she was going. Cold seeped into her, abrasive against her skin, and heightening her pain in sporadic jolts when her shivers further jostled her fragile form. Teeth chattering, Sole tried to focus her mind through the frigid assault of the water on her rotting flesh.

She didn’t know why or how, but she did have a pretty good guess as to what was happening. It was just as Hancock had described to her almost a year prior. The pain, the stench, the _speed_ ; ghoulification hadn’t even occurred to her. And then suddenly, it occurred to her all at once. How many months had she been traipsing around the Commonwealth, her virgin, pre-war skin constantly being bombarded by unaccustomed-to doses of background radiation?

In any case, the idea of making the trek all the way to Goodneighbor made her stomach writhe in her gut. Would the Mayor, in his own withered, leathery charms, still flirt with her so openly in her current state? Would even the Watch still make sleezy comments about her? 

It seemed silly; to worry about such trivial things when she was falling apart in on herself, and sillier still when the wandering eyes felt intrusive in literally every other context. But her face, her supple skin – they were all points of pride for her, her pre-war beauty, like a perfectly preserved enchanted rose, had made life considerably easier for her. It was a bargaining chip in this new, lawless world, and a luxury that fed her ego in the comfort-starved routine of this barren place.

Hot, embarrassed tears sprang from the corner of Sole’s eyes, and she hated herself for them. Would her waterlogged eyelids slough off like the rest of her flesh?

She doubted she’d make the trek to Goodneighbor even if her shame ebbed away.

Her breath came in shallow, furtive pants as panic settled in and commandeered her. Fine, let it be, Sole thought wickedly, let it keep the rotting, sinking vessel her body had become in a sudden, sickly turn of the night. A damp scent caught her nose, wet and bloody and rank. Sole was too afraid to bring her fingers up to the gaping wounds that opened up at her skin, so she kept her arms hovering inches away from her sides, too afraid to touch herself, too afraid to let the world touch her – hell, even the air felt intrusive. 

Her skin felt noticeably weak around her; looser somehow, and the image of old tarberries came to mind; withered in their skins, with the fruit seeping out like it had been eviscerated by age.

She’d be right at home with them. 

Sole turned due east and started walking again.

-

By the time Sole reached the Slog, the sun was already clambering upwards towards the sky’s apex, and her legs were numb. Sole kept her eyes firmly fixed on the smudge on the horizon as it grew bigger and more detailed. Soon, the individual chain links of the fence could be made out, as could the bricks of the building, as the figures that emerged from the structure began a hard day’s work.

Her skin – or whatever was left of it, felt raw, and while Sole was too scared to look down and check for herself, she suspected that the wetness she felt beading its way down her back wasn’t sweat at all, but blood, or worse yet, the putrid mucus she’d discovered earlier on in her… _molting_.

Sole drew closer to the Slog, and from there it only took a couple of more minutes for Wiseman to meet her at the gate. Sole watched his dark eyes carefully; they were somber at her appearance – but not horrified. The quiet acceptance confirmed her suspicions; he had seen this before, and she had seen the effects most often. This was her ghoulification.

The shock sprang into his eyes the same time the recognition did.

“Wait a minute,” he murmured, “I know you…you’re…with the Minutemen?”

Sole grimaced. Was she still? If she survived this, could she go back?

“Yeah,” was all she managed.

Wiseman’s mouth opened again as if he were to press further about why she’d shown up, without being summoned and looking as she did, but then, they both supposed, that was exactly why she’d come, wasn’t it? He snapped his mouth closed, sighed, and tried again.

“Farming’s not easy, but you’ll have a roof over your head, and food on the table.”

Sole swallowed, and her voice rasped slightly when she spoke again.

“Put me to work.”

-

Sole had been working at the Slog for about four months when he’d finally shown up.

By now, the last remnants of her smooth skin had chipped off, fluttering to the ground like withered, dry leaves in Autumn. They were almost indistinguishable by the time they reached that point. The rotting process, as it turned out, was the worst. Now, Sole, while she still had trouble around mirrors, was relatively happy, with the blistered pains now gone for good. Her skin was sunken, and brown, like dried leather – like every other ghoul’s. 

At least she didn’t need to worry about sunscreen anymore.

She felt new. Not shiny and bright, but different and reborn in a strange sort of way. She finally understood what Hancock had meant, when he’d talked about his own sort of rebirth. While she doubted, she’d choose this again, she was living with the change, and didn’t feel quite as broken as she thought she might. The smooth skinned Sole was someone else entirely, and now, this was her.

When his shadow fell across her, she straightened up and brought her wrist across her brow, more out of habit than utility. She swiped the non-existent sweat from her bone-dry forehead and went to go meet the newcomer’s gaze.

He was tanner than she remembered, lacking the sparkle she recalled seeing him with, and maybe even a little bit regretful; but it was the pale, inquisitive gaze she’d known so well. 

“Sturges?” Sole murmured, before she immediately wondered at how he’d take her new rasped tambre.

He regarded her in silence for a few moments, taking in her cheeks; now like withered apples, and her dark eyes, shining deep and brown like sherry in crystal.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh?” he finally said, and Sole’s knees almost buckled right then and there at the sound of his familiar drawl.

It was one of those things one was content to forget until they caught a hint of it again, and then suddenly they could scarcely imagine how they lived without it, like her mom’s home cooking or indoor plumbing. Her chest squeezed.

“I live here now,” Sole replied, as if to take the sting out of the implication that she was cowering way.

This act of defense did not go unnoticed by Sturges; details were his specialty after all.

“Yeah, I get it,” he sighed, “still though, you could’ve left a note or something.”

Sole shrugged. Yeah, she could’ve.

“I sort of forgot about it, what with my skin rotting right off of me, and whatnot.”

It came across snappier than she’d intended. Sturges put up his hands in the universal gesture for surrender.

“I know, I know, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I was worried is all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry enough to come back?”

Sole’s stomach pitted inside her, like it was trying to burrow its way to safety.

“I…Sturges…”

“For me?” he pleaded, reaching up to take her hand in his. Sole flinched at his lightly calloused touch. How long had it been since someone had touched her? Where the pads of his fingers used to meet velvet, they probably met leather now. Was he repulsed? The readiness of his grip said he was anything but.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Sole was grateful for the inherent hoarseness in her voice, as it disguised the chokedness she fought off as tears she couldn’t cry stung her eyes.

“Why, sure you can,” Sturges said with a small smile, and as Sole saw it, she felt the slightest bit at ease. “We don’t even have to live in the middle of everything – let’s go back to the Red Rocket.”

Sole raised what used to be her brow.

“You want me to live at an old gas station?”

“Well,” Sturges started before lapsing into a resigned chuckle. Pink rose to his face in blooms at the apples of his cheeks, like a cloud of dust. “I was thinking _we’d_ live there. Together.”

“Together?”

“C’mon, you can’t be that surprised,” Sturges smiled crookedly, “save for the last couple of months, things between us were…well, you remember, don’t you?”

She did. Sole’s heart fluttered in her chest like a bird, and she raised her browned hand to it, smoothing it flat against the strange thrum. It had fallen so silent in her time at the Slog, that she’d assumed it was empty.

“We’d be safe there anyways,” Sturges continued, “it’s close enough to Sanctuary to have all the resources we’d need, but far enough away for us to have our privacy.”

Sole’s grip tightened around the length of the shovel. It wasn’t…a terrible picture, that he painted. Hell, with his reason, and that folksy little drawl of his, he could probably sell water to a fish. Still though, this was a dangerous thing to be tempted by. Could she live amongst humans again? Could she step back into her old life if she wasn’t herself anymore?

“Don’t tell me you’re unwilling to leave the joys of farm work behind,” Sturges said with a grin, “but if you are, we can see to that too. There’s a nice bit of fertile ground by the Red Rocket.”

Sole blinked at him, then she broke out into a wide grin, the already creased skin by her eyes crinkling further. Her eyes gleamed more than what the sun should’ve allowed, and when she spoke, her voice was sandpaper on gravel.

“I don’t like farming at _all_ ,” Sole let the shovel drop to the ground, stirring up a small cloud of dust at their feet, “let’s go home.”


End file.
